Here I am again, thinking about Clara, wondering if she's asleep, replaying in my mind the way she leaned in when she asked me not to kiss her.
She was so responsive to me, I wanted nothing more than to push her against the kitchen table and kiss her. I wanted to do more than kiss. I wanted to drive her insane with pleasure, bring her over the edge again and again. I want her, and not just in my bed. I can make her laugh, but I want to learn how to make her happy. She beckons to me on a visceral level, her sweetness and passion pulling me in like a magnet.
I will make this woman mine.
CHAPTER SIX
Clara
Over the next few days, I constantly run into Blake. On our balcony, on the staircase, in front of the building. There is no reprieve, and the tension between us escalates with every encounter. I'm positive the next time I see him I'll spontaneously combust.
Which is why Tuesday morning, I go for a run. I'm only an occasional runner (with the occasion usually requiring me to fit in a tight dress for a special event), but my body has been humming with tension for days, and I need to shake it off.
My battery-operated friend will remain out of commission for the time being, considering wall thickness and all that.
The morning is pleasantly cool as I start my run, and there isn't much fog even though wisps of mist do seem to linger here and there. It's early enough that dew still covers the greenery.
It's a great neighborhood for a run, what with all the mansions and manicured lawns lining the streets. As I approach our building, Blake infiltrates my thoughts again.
I slow down to a brisk walking pace about one hundred feet from the entrance, but I'm still panting as I climb the staircase.
"Morning!"
As if I've conjured him up by sheer force of daydreaming, Blake appears at the top of the staircase, which has never seemed narrower. I always get the impression that any space instantly shrinks when Blake is inside it. I don't know if it's because he takes up a lot of space anywhere, or because I'm so consumed by him that everything else fades around him. Probably a combination.
"You're up early."
"Bank meeting."
Ah, that explains the suit. I lick my lips. Sweet heavens, this will not bode well for me. On any given day, I'm having trouble keeping my thoughts in check around him. Now, with Blake in a suit... call me shallow, but I'm a sucker for a man in a suit. That goes double when the man in question is Blake.
"Thought you weren't a runner." He descends two steps until we're level, and in my clumsy attempt to put some distance between us, I back into the wall of the staircase.
"I'm not, but I wanted to clear my head and." Shake off the crazy sexual tension. Yeah, that's a thought best kept to myself. "Had some extra energy to shake off." Licking my upper lip, I taste salt. I need a shower stat. My tank top clings to my back, and to my chest, a detail that does not escape Blake.
"I have to go shower. I'm a sweaty mess."
"I disagree." He brings one hand to my face, his finger skimming across the skin over my upper lip, where I licked before. "You're sexy as hell. I love your smell." Leaning forward, he rubs the tip of his nose against my temple. "So feminine. Sweet."
He places his hand to my bare shoulder. The fine hairs on my arms instantly stand on end. When he runs his thumb along my clavicle, I shudder. "I'm dying to taste you, Clara."
His voice is low, gruff, and so full of intent it sends an arrow of heat straight through me. It's all I can do not to clench my thighs together.
"You're being intense again," I inform him, struggling not to melt right here in his arms.
"I plan to keep that up until you relent."
"I... you're... sweet baby Jesus, it's too early in the morning for this," I mutter. "Can't a girl have her coffee before you try to melt the panties off her?"
Blake throws his head back, laughing. "You're one of a kind, Clara. Unfortunately, I do have to go or I'll be late for the meeting. I'll leave you to your coffee, and your shower."
He steps back but still fixes me with that molten gaze of his. "And by the way, there are much better ways to release sexual tension than running."
Damn this man and his wicked way with words. Shaking my head, I bid him goodbye, hurrying inside my apartment. My body is so alive and tight with tension, I feel like I'm about to implode.
Well, that was a waste of a run.
***
Tuesday is, as usual, the worst day of the week, because the final ratings for the show come in.
"If we don't improve, we're gonna get axed." Quentin paces the small balcony of the studio later that day, smoking his fifth cigarette in twelve minutes. Yep, I'm counting the minutes, because I have a million things on my to-do list today, and wasting time by keeping Quentin company while he chain-smokes and complains isn't one of them. But when the boss is about to have a mental breakdown, it's my duty to point out the positives so the entire show doesn't go to hell in a handbasket.