Chapter 45 - The Fake-mergency (2/2)

So there it goes—what she feels is obvious to the nȧkėd eye. Claire couldn't' really hide anything to people, even her innermost feelings.

”I'm fine, Gabriel.”

”No, no, no. You're red in the face. Are you having a panic attack? Or an allergic reaction?”

Jesus Henry Christ, the emotional reactions of this man! ”I'm fine, Gabriel. I just feel… I just feel…” I just feel strangely attracted to you, is what she wants to say, but the words never leave her lips.

”I know what a panic attack looks like,” he insists. ”And you seem trembling. Jesus, Claire, I think you're having an allergic reaction of some kind!”

”I am fine, Gabriel!”

”No, you're not,” Gabriel says, ”This is an emergency.” And as if on cue, the elevator doors open to the second floor, where the only establishment is the luxury spa. He grabs her in his arms, like a knight saving a damsel in distress. ”Don't worry, you'll be fine! The spa has a resident medical personnel, too. Just relax.”

Then he half-runs, half-walks the entire length of the long hallway, carrying her in his arms as though he's holding precious cargo.

And while all this is happening, Claire is thinking: This is insane…but thrilling in a weird way. Why do I feel so good in his arms? Why am I having this strange sensation? This sense of intimacy, this closeness that I've never felt with anyone before, not even with my so-called boyfriends?

She has given up struggling—no point in telling this man that she's fine. That she's merely blushing. This is Gabriel Tan being crazy again, and Claire thinks she should just let the course run.

As they arrive at the reception lobby of the luxury spa, manned by a lone receptionist who looks strikingly pretty by any standards, Gabriel is yelling, ”I need ȧssistance. Get me the doctor!”

The receptionist immediately disappears into a backroom.

Gabriel gently places Claire on a sofa. ”How are you feeling?”

I told you I'm super fine, is what Claire almost says. But what comes out of her lips is, ”I feel like I'm out of breath.”

”Jesus,” he mutters. ”Hold on.”

Gabriel looks around. There's still no sight of the receptionist or the doctor, who just last night checked on Claire.

And secretly, Claire is giggling inwardly. Look at how this man worries. She feels so special, as though Gabriel's world would implode if something serious actually happens with her. And for some reason, some naughty streak, Claire even ups the ante. Even when she really feels fine, she says, ”I can't breathe, Gabriel.”

”Jesus, Claire,” he says. ”Wait.” He looks around one last time. And when there's still no sight of the doctor, he gazes at Claire.

For a split-second, Claire seems to recognize a gleam of longing in Gabriel's eyes—before he swoops down to give her a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

But there's only one other strange thing: Claire's tongue is awkwardly in the way as he tries to ”resuscitate” her.

And perhaps, whether intentional or not, Gabriel's efforts in trying to ”resuscitate” poor Claire, with that tongue in the way, and the heady feminine scent of this woman, and the memory of how she looked breathtakingly lovely and nȧkėd in the bedroom playing in an endless loop in Gabriel's head, the ”mouth-to-mouth resuscitation” very slowly, like the luscious melting of glaciers, transforms into a deep, gentle, intimate kiss.