Your Fierce Love (The Bennett Family #7)(16)

Blake straightens up, training his eyes on me. "Hadn't thought about it like that. Makes sense. Dreamed of going to Hogwarts and all that?"

I nod enthusiastically.

I discovered the series shortly after arriving at the group home. I devoured it, feeling a deep kinship with the orphan boy. I desperately wished for something or someone who would take me out of that place where I was surrounded by loneliness and bullies. No such luck. Sometimes I wished I'd ended up in foster care as a baby because then I wouldn't have experienced the warmth and love of a family, wouldn't have known what I was missing. But then I chastised myself because I cherished those years I had with Mom and Dad. 

"Where did you go just now?" Blake asks, and I snap out of my thoughts. He closes the distance to me, leaning against the shelf a mere foot away from me.

"Old memories."

"Want to share them?" His voice is unusually soft, but I don't detect any pity. I never can take pity.

"Nah! There's nothing quite like enjoying the present day."

"I can help with that. I'm all about enjoying life."

"That's right. I don't think I've ever seen anyone eat with quite so much gusto."

"All your doing. That dinner was delicious. Your arrabbiata sauce is even better than Mom's, but don't tell her I said that."

"Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

Turning around to face the bookshelf, I rearrange the copies of the Harry Potter series because they're out of order. I barely register Blake is moving until I feel him right behind me.

"Now I'm considering other ways to help you so you can thank me often. I'm really good at maintenance: changing lightbulbs, the batteries for your battery-operated buddy, that sort of things."

I freeze in the act of pulling out the sixth volume. Blake brings one hand to my waist, and the contact stirs something deep inside me. Ever so slowly, he skims his hand upward, sliding it along my ribs to my back, then inching up on my spine. It's all I can do not to lean into his touch. What is he doing to me? And why am I enjoying this so much?

Warmth radiates through me everywhere he touches, but when the fabric of my sweater ends and his fingers touch the bare skin at the back of my neck, a small gasp tumbles past my lips. Blake presses his fingertips slightly into me. Then he inches closer until the tip of his nose is in my hair, his breath landing on my scalp. One deep inhale and his hand travels from the back of my neck down my arm. He moves with exquisite slowness, stopping for a breath after nearly every inch downward. It's almost as if he's waiting for my reaction, testing how far he can push. Well, if he is testing me, I'm failing spectacularly. By the time he reaches down past my elbow, I'm positive I will combust. But then he cinches up the sleeve, running his thumb along my forearm right down to my wrist, cuffing it.

"Your pulse is wild," he murmurs.

"You think?" I ask in a strangled voice. He knows what he's doing to me. He knows it exactly. This man turned me into a ball of need without touching me intimately, or even kissing me. When he moves his thumb in a little circle over my pulse point, I press my lips tightly together. This is too much. How we went from zero to one hundred in the span of seconds, I don't know, but I need fresh air to clear my thoughts.

I inhale deeply, gathering my wits. It's no small task, considering Blake has me under his spell again. When I pull away, turning around, his molten gaze holds mine stubbornly, and I can't look away, hard as I want to.

"Want to watch the sunset on the balcony?" I manage eventually, stepping back, putting some much-needed distance between us. "I have a bottle of wine too, and some sweets: Turkish Delight."

"Sure."

While I get out the wine and the sweet treat, Blake hovers in front of the bookshelf again.

"What's with all these albums? Can I look?"

"Yeah."

Those albums contain my illustrations. I like to print them out and look at them in albums. I feel like I can track my progress over the years better that way.



       
         
       
        

"Are these illustrations for children's books?" he asks.

"Yeah." I put the wine, glasses, and candy on a platter but leave it on the counter, heading to Blake instead.

"Wow. All these albums are full of them? There must be hundreds."

"Lost count over the years." While I was traveling with Nate on the job, I kept the albums in storage, but since I relocated to San Francisco I've kept them in my living room.

"When did you start?"

"At eighteen. Took a class at the community college, and since then I buy random kids' books that are text only, and I make up illustrations."