"Um...yes."
"That makes no sense."
I smile, imagining his expression. "So, where are we going?"
"Surprise."
"Blake, come on, I need clues so I know what to wear. Help a girl out. I don't want to stick out like a sore thumb."
"You're beautiful no matter what you wear, Clara."
Well dang. This man has a dangerous way with words. "We're going to have dinner. Nothing fancy. I'll make reservations at eight."
"No way. The earliest I can be ready is nine."
"But you said you'll be done at the studio at six."
"So? I need to get ready."
"You need three hours? Will I recognize you?"
"I'm getting fancy, not undergoing plastic surgery."
"Okay, I'll make reservations at nine thirty. I can't wait to see you."
My chest fills with warmth. "Me too."
After clicking off, I mentally go through the dresses I own. I don't want to barely make the cut. I want Blake to be proud with me on his arm.
***
Blake isn't in his apartment when I arrive at home, which is just as good, because I know him. He'd try to sneak in, and my plan is for him to see the full package at the end. It sort of works. I'm almost done when I step out of the bathroom, hastily looking around for some hairpins.
Blake is on the balcony, pacing in front of the French doors. He notices me a split second later and stops midstride, the corners of his mouth lifting up.
And that smile? I'd do anything for it. Anything.
I've made a plan that if he tried to snoop from the balcony, I'd tease him, locking the door and keeping him outside. But the moment I see him, all those plans seem extremely foolish. I need to touch him, kiss him, laugh with him. And I can't wait even one second longer. I head straight to the French doors, open them, and we collide in a hot and heavy kiss. Luckily, I haven't applied lipstick yet.
When I pull away, I'm breathless.
"Hi," Blake says. His hand is around my waist, keeping me flush against him.
"Hi back." I look up at him, drinking him in. The man is seriously gorgeous. Everything from the set of his jaw, the width of his shoulders, and the muscles lacing his arms scream masculinity. It oozes off him, making me lose my train of thought. He's leaning lightly over me, and there is something inherently domineering about his pose. Licking my lips, I feel myself liquefy in his arms. I take a step back to clear my mind and twirl around, feeling like a princess in my dress.
"What do you think?"
"I think I can't wait to get that dress off you."
My breath catches as he rakes his gaze over me. My God, he can be intense. Still, I need to make something clear before I let him have his wicked way with me-fingers crossed for very wicked.
I move my forefinger right in front of his nose, signaling no. "Careful. This belongs to my best friend, Penny. She loaned it to me a while ago. I have to return it intact."
"I can buy her a new one if I damage this one."
Well, well, isn't he cheeky. I start working on a sassy reply-my usual sass won't cut it; Blake requires I up my standards-but then I look beyond his shape, to the balcony outside. Mouth agape, I rush past him to the French doors, taking in the sight. Pots hang from the railing, and they're chock-full of flowers.
"Wow! What happened here?" I ask Blake, who joins me outside.
"Do you like it?"
"Of course! I love it. Dahlias are my favorite flowers. Oh, and hydrangeas. I love them."
"I know."
This catches me off guard, and I slice a glance at him. "You do?"
"Summer told me. She helped me with all this. I have a number of talents, but I don't have a green thumb, or any clue about flowers. I know you wanted to do this but didn't have time, so Summer and I did it for you."
Something stirs inside me. He's being very sweet and attentive, more than anyone has been with me. I could get used to this, and that's dangerous.
"Thank you," I say simply, proud that my voice is even.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Blake is watching me intensely. Being the object of his attention is messing with my senses.
"I missed you, Clara."
He tucks me into his side, kissing my temple, and my heart swells knowing he shares my feelings. Hearing him say it first makes it easier to open up, my fears of coming across as clingy subsiding somewhat.
"I missed you too. So much!"
He wraps both arms around me, and we stay like that for several moments. Part of me had wondered if I'd built him up in my mind, but no. Being in his arms makes me feel wanted and safe, desired and respected. How can he do all this at the same time? More worryingly, how am I supposed to be without him once this runs its course? Don't be silly, Clara. I've been without a man for thirty years. But that was before Blake and all his deliciousness.