"All done," Blake says seconds later, straightening up and startling me. "At least I think so." His eyes sweep across the room as if checking whether anything is unfinished.
"Yeah, all done. I just have to unpack my boxes."
"Speaking of boxes, I just have one mailbox. I can put a second one for you."
"No need, I won't put this address anywhere. I already gave Penny's address at work. The emergency plan was to camp on her couch for a few days until I found a better place. No sense redoing the paperwork since I'm moving into my condo in three months max."
"Okay."
Come to think of it, it's far better for my work file to display Penny's address. I wouldn't put it past Quentin to check where my address is and realize I'm living next to Blake.
"Do you want water?"
He nods, and after I take two glasses out of the box labeled kitchenware, we both walk to the kitchen.
Handing him a glass full of water, I say, "I'd thank you again, but I sound like a broken record even to my own ears. I'll make it up to you, promise. Delicious dinner coming your way after I settle in."
"Looking forward to it." He gives me a wolfish smile and a wiggle of his eyebrows, and my body reacts instantly: rushed breath, weak knees, racing heart. Check, check, check.
While Blake helps himself to a second glass of water, I carry one of the boxes labeled bed linens to my bedroom. When I return, Blake is hovering dangerously close to an unlabeled box. As surreptitiously as possible, I lift it, intending to carry it to my bedroom as well. Several mishaps occur before I'm even halfway there. A strange sound cracks through the air. I can't place it, but a few seconds later, two loud bangs-metal on wood-follow. Two batteries fell from the box, but how is that possible?
The cracking sound returns and I realize what's going on: the bottom of the box is giving out. No, no, no. Not this box. Panic shoots through me as Blake seems to realize this too and hurries my way.
"Here, let me help-"
"No need." I run to the bedroom, two more metallic bangs following me. With a relieved breath, I set the box on the floor. Straightening up, I'm startled to find Blake right next to me, holding out his hand, the four batteries in his palm.
"Why in such a hurry to get that box out of the way? What do you have inside, battery-operated friends?"
My cheeks flush, and I can't form a comeback. Blake, who was probably only joking, looks from one cheek to the other, then to the batteries in his palm, finally lowering his gaze to my box. My mouth turns dry as dust, and I think I could melt butter on my cheeks right now. I swear the air between us charges. Suddenly, the room is too small, and there is not enough air. Hastily, I reach out to take the batteries. Our fingers touch, and holy hotness. The skin-on-skin contact is so charged, it sends my senses into a tailspin. My eyes meet his, and there is no mistaking the intensity of his gaze-or the heat in it.
Why, oh why didn't I pack my vibrator in my suitcase? This was an accident waiting to happen.
"You're killing me, Clara," he says, my name almost a groan. "The wall between our bedrooms has no phonic isolation."
It takes me a second to realize what he means, and I blush even more violently. Then I drum my fingers against my thigh, plotting my revenge. He could have been a gentleman about this and pretended nothing happened, but instead he put me on the spot. Well, well, this just begs me to turn the tables on him. After all, he did say he likes being challenged.
"Don't worry, I have pillows. They're a good enough buffer."
He exhales sharply, his eyes zeroing in on my lips. "Sweetness, if pillows are enough it means your battery buddy isn't doing a great job." Advancing slowly, Blake pushes a strand of hair away from my face. The contact zings through me, an almost imperceptible shudder traveling throughout my body. Hold that thought!
Blake's lips curl up in a smile...yeah, my shudder was everything but imperceptible to him. Instead of taking his hand back, he moves it down to my earlobe, tracing the contour of my jaw. OhmyGod. It's all I can do not to press my thighs together. An ache's formed between them, so sudden and so intense that I don't know what to do with myself. How can his proximity affect me so much?
A smarter woman would back down, but I'm determined to go toe-to-toe with him. Some small part of me wants to know if I affect him as much as he affects me.
"Oh, it's doing a great job. I just need the right inspiration." Wiggling my eyebrows, I add, "I have an excellent imagination. And I'm not afraid to use it."