Blake breathes out on another sharp exhale, and this time he's so close to me that the rush of hot air lands just above my upper lip. My pulse jackhammers, and I bite into my lower one, painfully aware that the ache low in my body has intensified. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple dipping in his throat. Up close, I can see the beginning of a five-o'clock shadow on his chiseled features. How would it feel against my fingers, my lips? Oh God, everything about Blake is too masculine. Too potent. Too much.
My pulse ratchets up even more. Distance. I need distance. Ever so carefully, I tiptoe around him, just as his phone chimes.
"Have to go downstairs to the bar."
"Right. Thanks for all your help."
He quirks up a corner of his mouth. "My pleasure."
Ah, no! How can he pack so much sensuality into one word? No fair. Not at all.
"See you around, Clara." Taking my hand, he brings it to his lips, kissing my knuckles with a feather light touch. The gesture would ordinarily be gentlemanly, but sometime between him realizing what's in my unlabeled box and me trying to outwit him, he lit a fuse inside me. Feeling his lips on my skin is torture. The rhythm of my pulse is now at an all-time high, and a wild pounding is in my ears. Which is why, when he brings his mouth to my ear the next second, I almost don't catch his words. Almost.
"You'll forgive me if I won't try too hard not to listen, Clara."
With a smile and a wink, he leaves my apartment. It takes me almost an entire minute to calm down, and I swallow a few times until the rush of blood in my ears subsides somewhat. The rhythm of my pulse is almost normal, but then I hear three knocks from the other side of the shared wall in the bedroom and it ratchets back up, even wilder than before.
CHAPTER FIVE
Clara
"Mmmm...delicious."
I'm elbow deep in preparing my "thank you" dinner for Blake.
I called Jenna, his mom, to check what Blake's favorite dish is. From the numerous Bennett meals I attended, I gauged that it would be either spaghetti arrabbiata or pork chops, but I wanted to double-check, just in case. Jenna confirmed my guesses, which is when I realized I pay far more attention to Blake than I thought. I haven't memorized anyone else's favorite dishes.
Shortly after six, I hear footsteps in the corridor, and then Blake's door opens and closes. Ten minutes later, I'm done with dinner. My palms have started to sweat, which is ridiculous. Just as I finish setting the table, there is a knock at my door. I open right away.
"Hello, Clara."
His hair is mussed, and his skin has a thin sheet of moisture-he probably just popped out of the shower.
"Come on in."
He steps in, running his hand through his damp hair, sending sprinkles of water everywhere. A few land on my shoulder, and I shiver lightly. His T-shirt sticks to him slightly, as if the skin is still damp.
"Wow, this place is barely recognizable."
"I wouldn't say that, but it looks lived in." Since moving in a week ago, I put up decorations and ordered twinkle lights, which arrived two days ago. I hung them around the window and have lit them up for this occasion. It's cloudy outside, and they make a nice contrast, casting a warm glow over the living room.
"Sit down. I'll bring dinner right out."
As I dash from the living room to the kitchen, I feel his gaze following me. When I serve the dishes, his entire expression brightens.
"This is my favorite food."
I nod proudly. "Called your mom to make sure."
"You did all this for me?"
"Yeah."
"You're amazing."
We dig in, making easy conversation over dinner. After we eat, he inspects the changes I've made.
He approaches the bookshelf with a frown. "You have three sets of the Harry Potter books...why?"
"They mean a lot to me," I say simply. "Besides, each set has different covers."
"Different covers," Blake mumbles to himself, as if that isn't a good enough a reason to own different editions.
"If you tell me you aren't a fan of the series, I might seriously reconsider our friendship," I warn jokingly.
"I saw the movies, but I'm not a big reader."
"Ugh, stop right there."
"I liked them. But obviously, there are fans"-he points to himself-"and fans,"-he points to me and winks.
"I think I felt a big connection to Harry because he was an orphan too, and his life with the Dursleys was very shitty."
Shit! Why did I open the can of worms? I usually avoid any reference to my childhood. People react weirdly when they find out I grew up in group homes. Some pity me, and some simply don't know what to say. Blake knows, of course, but it's still not a pleasant dinner topic.