Your Fierce Love (The Bennett Family)(13)

"You're cheating," I accuse him. "This is for work, isn't it?"

"What's on the list, yes. But we have plenty of time to sneak in other visits." He leans in to me. "For our own pleasure."                       
       
           


///
       

A white-hot current races through me because he said that last word on a lower octave, and it came out very seductive.

"I didn't peg you as the list-maker type."

Blake grins. "I wasn't, but since I started working with Alice, it's become a vital skill. Learn fast or die trying."

The perimeter of the festival, set in the shade of Presidio Park, is  absolutely full. As we step inside it, he places his hand at my lower  back, warm and protective, guiding me to a booth labeled Trifecta,  displaying all kinds of pastries. My mouth is watering already.

"This isn't on your list."

"No." He presses the pads of his fingers into my flesh as he steps right  next to me, pinning me with his dark gaze. "This is for your pleasure,  Clara."

Hearing my name and "pleasure" in one breath is messing with me. Or  maybe it's the way he's saying it. With a little intent and a whole lot  of double entendre.

"Blake, you're here. Just in time."

A grinning chef greets us. He has a thick dark brown mustache that  almost makes up for his lack of hair. His prominent belly hangs slightly  over his apron. Blake takes his hand away from my back, shaking the  man's hand. I miss the contact already.

The chef winks at me, and as he lowers himself under the counter, I feel  like I'm watching a secret mission unfold. Straightening up, he shoves a  tray with sourdough bread-a treat San Francisco is known for-in front  of us. When he places it on the counter right in front of me, I bring my  hands to my face, bouncing on my toes.

"For me?" The question is superfluous, but I have to make sure before I attack the goodies.

"Yes," the chef and Blake say in unison. I immediately shove a slice in  my mouth. It's divine. I barely bite back a moan as I munch on it.

"Delicious."

"Glad you like it," Blake says. "We should be going."

"Lots of stops on the list," I agree. After saying goodbye to the chef, we move on.

"Thank you," I say simply as we walk side by side.

"You're welcome."

As we walk deeper into the festival area, Blake places an arm across my  back, resting his hand on my shoulder, lightly tucking me into him, as  if I belong to him. I'm in terrible danger next to this handsome man who  is feeding me delicious goodies and making me swoon. He's exploiting my  weaknesses, and he's doing a thorough job of it.

The festival buzzes with people of all ages: professionals who clearly  just got off work, retired couples, groups of teenagers, and even the  occasional parents pushing a stroller. Everyone is enjoying the city,  celebrating it, and I'm soaking in all that infectious energy.

We stop at the first booth on Blake's list, and I'm surprised by the  instant change in his posture when he talks to the vendor. He seems  taller somehow. In charge. It's the same body language I saw when I  first went to visit the apartment. It's a very sexy look on him.

We finish the stops on his list surprisingly quickly.

"What do you want to do now?" Blake asks. "What looks good?"

Everything looks good. I peer around, trying to decide on a booth.

"That one." I point to a booth that boasts having the best Dungeness crab in the city. "Since they brag, let's go try it out."

Blake and I go wild. At the end, when I pull out my wallet, Blake catches my hand midair.

"No!"

"Blake-"

"Clara-"

"I wanted the crab. I'm paying for it."

"Absolutely not. You're not paying for anything when you're out with me."

The vendor is looking between us with an amused expression. I'm not  having any of this. I yank my hand away from Blake's grip because his  touch is melting my resolve, and I want to be firm.

"You're not letting me pay for stuff I want inside the apartment, or  drinks I have at your bar." I cross my arms over my chest. "I'm not  having any of this man-must-pay nonsense."

He holds up his hand. "It's called being a gentleman. Never let a lady  pay. You have an issue with that, then take it up with my parents.  That's how they raised me."

He disarms me, of course, and Blake pays in the next moment. I briefly  wonder if he likes to take charge in the bedroom as well. Nope, not  going there. But I already did, and the question is on the tip of my  tongue. I swallow it down.

The scenario repeats itself several times. By the time we're done, the  button of my jeans threatens to pop, and I feel like a stuffed teddy  bear. I suck in my tummy, which shows a small beginning of a muffin top  even on an empty stomach. I cycle to work twice a week, but that isn't  doing much for my tummy. Eating less carbs would help, but where is the  joy in that?                       
       
           


///
       

The sun is setting by the time we finish our round, and more people seem to have spilled into the festival.

"This is getting claustrophobic," I comment, and Blake nods in  agreement. "Hey, I have an idea. Can we walk up the Lyon Street steps  back home? They should start somewhere nearby and lead us right up in  the Pacific Heights district."

I do one full turn, trying to guess which direction Lyon Street might be, but I feel lost.

"Great idea," says Blake. "Come on, I know the way."

"Do you know there are some four hundred stairways in San Francisco?" I rattle off as we head out into the night.

"No, I didn't."

"Yeah. Some are so well hidden, it's like they're a secret."

Blake nods, impressed.

"I have the habit of memorizing random stuff I read in city guides," I  explain. "Honed the skills years ago, when Nate and I worked on that  international show. Even though we spent a few weeks, sometimes even a  few months in each city, the work schedule was so Draconian that I had  time to cram in visiting. Tried to make the most out of the time I had,  which included reading city guides thoroughly."

Ah, but the Lyon Street stairs and their surroundings are a thing of  beauty. As we climb them, I wish I had three more pairs of eyes so I  could take everything in. Past the hedgerows are luxurious old mansions  (some resemble small palaces), perfectly trimmed lawns, and lush plants.  Far behind us, I can see the Palace of Fine Arts dome, and further  still the Golden Gate Bridge. If I focus intently, I can even make out  Alcatraz Island out in the distance on the water, clouded by mist. The  only downside to this scenic climb is the three hundred steps or so. At  some point, I feel as if someone is stabbing the left side of my belly.

"Let's stop for a bit." Blake merely smiles as I lean against the  railing, panting. Have to say, I would've expected the steps to be  crowded, but we've only encountered a handful of people so far. We  stopped near one of the large, billowing trees, and I take advantage of  our break to inspect it closely. Its crown is majestic and falling like a  thick curtain, some branches nearly touching the ground. I slip through  the curtain, with Blake right beside me.

Instantly, the air between us charges. Maybe it's the fact that the  light from the streetlamps barely reaches inside here, or that the green  curtain protects us from view, but the setting is intimate. Too  intimate. Heat rises to my cheeks. My neck starts to feel hot too.  Actually, my entire body feels hot. A sudden gust of wind sweeps by, and  a strand of hair catches at the corner of my lips. Blake pushes it  away, then splays his fingers on my cheek and jaw. His thumb is pressing  gently at the corner of my mouth, and I know I'm a goner. The intent in  his eyes is unmistakable.

He seals his mouth over mine, and the touch is electrifying. As he  feathers the tip of his tongue over my lower lip, he coaxes a moan out  of me. He's demanding entry. I open my mouth, more than willing to let  him in, greedy for more of what this man has to offer. His lips are as  firm as they are soft, moving expertly over mine. When he slips his  tongue inside, I lift my arms, lacing them behind his head, pulling him  in closer. Blake not only obliges by leaning in to me, but he fists my  hair, tipping my head up. His tongue is driving me insane with rhythmic  moves that are jolting to life every single cell, infusing them with  desire.

I'm burning for him, needing to touch, graze, and pull. I vaguely  register we're moving, and then I feel a strange surface-tree  bark-behind me. Blake is backing me up against a tree. He deepens the  kiss, and my desire transforms into desperation. I need to touch him.  Every cell in my body is buzzing, and the only thing that will calm me  down is touching him. Or perhaps it's the reverse. I need him to touch  me.