The first collision

The fluorescent lights of the emergency room buzzed overhead, casting everyone in a sickly pale glow. Alessia Moretti tightened the stitches on her patient’s arm, ignoring the dull ache building between her shoulder blades. Another Friday night. Another drunk. Another reason to believe that love — real love — was a stupid myth.

She tossed her gloves into the bin, scrubbing her hands like she could wash away the memories of every man who had ever lied to her.

“Code Blue at Bay 3!” someone shouted down the hall.

Alessia didn’t flinch. She wiped her hands on her scrubs and grabbed a chart, ready to move — until she saw him.

Leaning against the far wall like he owned the place, a man watched her. No, not just watched — studied. His tie was loose, the top buttons of his shirt undone, exposing a smooth line of skin. His hair was tousled like he’d just run his fingers through it in frustration — or pleasure. And his eyes… God help her, those ocean eyes made her heart lurch in her chest.

Rich. Handsome. Trouble.

Exactly the kind of man she avoided.

“Need some help?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that somehow wrapped around her, hot and heavy.

She scowled. “Do I look like I need help?”

The smile that curved his lips was slow, infuriating, and dangerously charming. “No,” he said. “You look like you could use a break.”

Before she could answer, he pushed off the wall and crossed the space between them, standing just a little too close. Not touching — not yet — but his presence brushed against her skin, a heat she felt deep in her stomach.

She swallowed hard, refusing to step back.

He smelled like clean soap, expensive leather, and something darker she couldn’t name.

“Who are you?” she asked, voice sharper than she intended.

He held out a hand. “Damon Blackwood.”

She didn’t take it. “Well, Damon Blackwood, unless you’re bleeding or dying, get out of my ER.”

That should’ve sent him away. It always did.

But Damon just laughed — low and deep — like she was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

“Maybe I’m already bleeding,” he said, leaning closer, his voice a whisper meant only for her. “You just can’t see it.”

Alessia’s pulse spiked.

She hated men like him.

Men who thought they could charm their way into your life, your bed, your heart — and leave you in pieces.

“Find someone else to fix you,” she snapped, brushing past him.

But as she stormed out into the night air, she heard footsteps behind her.

Turning around, she found him again — standing under the streetlight, holding out a coffee cup.

“You forgot this,” he said simply.

“I didn’t want it.”

“You will.”

The boldness made her falter. Damon’s eyes gleamed with something wicked — something that said he wasn’t going to walk away just because she told him to. And worse… something inside her didn’t want him to.

She snatched the coffee from his hand, ignoring the brush of his fingers against hers that sent a shiver racing down her spine.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she muttered.

He smiled. “It’s just coffee, sweetheart. For now.”

But they both knew it wouldn’t stay just coffee for long.

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